


Caught

by winethroughwater



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Spellcest, Spellcest Prompt Challenge, caught in the act trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-03 22:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17886089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winethroughwater/pseuds/winethroughwater
Summary: When you have been doing this as long as they have, you are bound to have been caught a few times. Maybe more than a few.  (A series of ficlets in no particular order—and not even necessarily in the same timeline—for together-as-sisters' 2nd fic challenge, "caught in the act.")





	1. Chapter 1

She is almost _there_.

 

And so is Hilda below her.

 

They are marvelously in sync for once--when a small form standing beside the bed and staring up at them--brings everything to a not-so-grinding-anymore halt.

 

“ _Sabrina_.”  

 

Zelda has seen her first and practically throws herself down on to her sister to cover them both.

 

“Wha--” Hilda starts but she’s seen their niece now too.

 

Zelda clutches the sheet to her bare chest and searches for a suitable explanation to relay to the little girl with tear stained cheeks.

 

“Auntie Hilda wouldn’t quit snoring so I’m just trying to strangle her.”  

 

“ _Zelda_.”

 

Hilda peers over her shoulder, smiles reassuringly at their niece whose lower lip has started to tremble.

 

“She’s only teasing, poppet.  Auntie Zelda isn’t very funny, is she?”

 

Zelda ignores the insult and tucks the sheet more securely under her arms as Hilda works to find her gown somewhere down amongst the covers.

 

“What do you need, my darling?”  

 

“Did you have another bad dream?” Hilda adds.  

 

Hilda misses Sabrina’s nod as she wrangles her gown over her head.

 

“Why don’t you go and crawl into my bed?” Zelda offers.  “We’ll be right there.”

 

Hilda hurries to Sabrina’s side.  

 

“Up you go, my love.”  She helps Sabrina crawl into the tall bed, the one she still has to build up a bit of momentum to get into herself.  “Budge right into the center.”

 

“Hilda.”

 

“ _I know_.”

 

Good to know Hilda is also feeling a bit of whiplash; however---

 

“ _Hilda_.”

 

“What?”  Her sister finally looks back over her shoulder.

 

 _“My_ gown.”

 

“Oh, yes, it’s just—”  Hilda looks around the floor for where it could have been tossed earlier, finally finds it near the foot of the bed. “—here.”

 

* * *

 

Zelda continues to stroke Sabrina’s back long after she has fallen asleep with small fingers clutching the collar of Hilda’s gown.

 

“We have to start locking the door,” Zelda whispers.

 

“But what if she needs us?” Hilda worries.  She snuggles closer to her niece. “She’ll be afraid.”

 

“And you think waiting at our door is _more_ traumatizing than what she just walked in on?”

 

“She’s only four. Surely she won’t remember.  But I suppose you have a point.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Academy years--forgive any typos. It's late and I'm in a Stevie Nicks haze.

The door opens with a groan.

 

Zelda’s eyes go wide.

 

She manages one strangled word, “ _Out_.”

 

The man blushes and turns on his heel—despite the fact that the room he had just entered was his own office.

 

Zelda’s world narrows to the mouth between her thighs and she’s coming, clutching through her skirt at the head beneath, bucking to meet it, before the door has even properly closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

A tongue laps greedily at the aftermath.

 

“Why didn’t you stop?”

 

Her voice is as sharp as she can manage.  

 

A tongue ignores her and flicks against a far-too-sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hilda’s fancy up-do is a shambles when she appears.

 

Her face is even more flushed now than it was from the two glasses of champagne she had drank before Zelda had grabbed her by the elbow on her way to the loo and pulled her into the privacy of this office.

 

Hilda’s face is flushed _and_ distractingly wet.

 

“I didn’t want to.”  Hilda props her elbow on Zelda’s thigh, her chin in hand. “You were about to, _you_ _know_.”

 

“That was _Edward_ , you imbecile.”

 

Hilda flings herself back to the floor and looks around them as if their brother might still be there.

 

“He couldn’t tell it was _me_ , could he?”   _Her_ eyes are wide now. “I didn’t know who it was.”

 

“No, he couldn’t see _you_.”

 

_She’ll_ be the one their older brother lectures tomorrow about having liaisons in his new office.

 

“Are you horribly cross, sister?”

 

Hilda is still tipsy and bold.

 

“Only, it didn’t feel like you minded.”

 

Hilda is adorable and messy.

 

Messy hair and makeup.

 

Messy mouth. Messy chin and cheeks. Even her nose.

 

Such enthusiasm should not go unrewarded.

 

* * *

 

 

Zelda pats her lap.

 

“Come here, sister-sweet.”

 

Hilda sits across her lap like a dutiful little sister ought to, pulls her skirt up to her waist like only the naughtiest little sister would.

 

She spreads her thighs when Zelda’s fingers creep across the naked skin above her stockings.

 

Zelda toys with the edge of loose silk before finding something much better to play with.

 

* * *

 

 

When Hilda leans in for a kiss, Zelda catches her chin.

 

Hilda’s lips--those lips made for the sweetest of sins--pout and Zelda’s only recourse is to shove a finger inside her.  

 

Hilda’s cunt is home away from home, home sweet home.

 

Hilda’s lips part.

 

So do her own.

 

If she kisses her now, she’ll still taste a hint of herself on Hilda’s tongue.

 

* * *

 

 

She has other plans.

 

She starts with Hilda’s left cheek, lathes her tongue over its apple-roundness.

 

Hilda clenches around her finger.

 

The other cheek gets the same treatment.

 

Hilda is doing all the work, fucking herself against her hand.

 

She licks her chin and teases the underside of her lip.

 

* * *

 

 

Hilda’s hips advance and retreat, circle.

 

The shapely ass waltzing against her lap is far better than any dance at the ball they are missing could ever have been.

 

* * *

 

 

The tip of her tongue touches the tip of Hilda’s nose.

 

She licks her own lips, then her sister’s.

 

Hilda seizes around her finger; she’s mid-cry when Zelda kisses her quiet.

 

* * *

 

 

Zelda can’t tell if she is tasting herself on Hilda’s tongue or on her own.


	3. Chapter 3

They haven’t slept in their childhood room in years. 

 

The thought has been merrily chasing them across continents. 

 

Whispered exchanges and barely veiled innuendo, perfectly innocent touches and heated kisses, in nearly every form of transport known to man—only to finally arrive in Greendale to hear Edward declare that Diana will be sharing their room with them the night before the wedding. 

 

His sisters could share a bed—hadn’t they done that most of the time growing up?—and his wife-to-be could take the other. 

 

Besides, it would give the three of them a chance to bond. 

 

“There are at least five other perfectly comfortable bedrooms in this house,” Zelda announces sourly.

 

“We put  _ guests _ in those rooms, sister,” Edward counters. His arm tugs his fiancé even closer to his side. “Diana is  _ family _ .”

 

“You can take my bed,” Hilda offers with a smile, though Zelda’s lips have narrowed to a hard line. “It has the best view of the moon through the window.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Diana is asleep and the moon has gone behind a cloud. 

 

If _Zelda_ falls asleep angry and frustrated, she’ll be insufferable tomorrow. And even though it is Edward and Diana she is cross with, Hilda will bear the brunt of her sister’s wrath as always. 

 

Hilda, herself, is disappointed.  _ Deeply _ . 

 

There’s the romance of the wedding, of course, but also of being back in Zelda’s bed where they had shared so many firsts. Firsts that make her ache just to think about them. 

 

_ She _ doesn’t want to go to sleep frustrated either. 

 

Hilda glances over her shoulder again and Diana is still soundly asleep. She considers hexing her, just a wee bit to keep her so, but Edward would be able to tell the next morning and she really doesn’t want to welcome his new bride to the family by cursing her. 

 

Diana is a perfectly lovely girl. 

 

Hilda unbuttons her nightgown—chiffon and satin bought especially—so she can press her breasts against the glowing skin of Zelda’s back that the deep dip of her gown leaves exposed. 

 

Her arm goes back to Zelda’s waist to pull her closer but there is no need. 

 

Zelda immediately shifts against her, back teasing breasts, ass teasing pelvis, a contented purr just plain teasing. 

 

Zelda’s calf props over her own, an invitation. An  _ open _ invitation. 

 

Hilda smiles into her sister’s hair, sweeps in up onto the pillow and safely out of the way. 

 

While her lips work down the side of Zelda’s throat, her hands are equally busy bunching Zelda’s gown to her thighs.  

 

Zelda tries to pull it further but Hilda swats her hand away. 

 

Zelda settles down once Hilda has cupped her through the layer of silk.  

 

No lace beneath, she notes.  

 

Zelda is always so sure she will always get what she wants.

* * *

 

“Good to be home, isn’t it,  _ Zelds _ ?”

 

“Could be better,  _ Hildegard _ .”

 

She’d intended to simply touch her sister through her gown, the way they had at the start when touching bare flesh was still a fever dream. 

 

Now, she coaxes her silk-covered fingers inside Zelda. 

 

She has to work a bit to find a rhythm because they don’t move as easily as her own naked fingers would.

 

_ Funny _ . 

 

She would have thought silk would slide easily against silk

 

But judging by the way Zelda’s hips are moving and the little sound in her throat, it feels just fine on her sister’s end. 

* * *

 

Zelda’s right hand is working rough circles against herself. The other has balled up her pillow and is holding it against her mouth. 

 

When Hilda bites the back of Zelda’s neck, she can taste her sweat and the lingering bitterness of her perfume. 

 

* * *

 

There is still a groan but at least it is muffled. 

 

* * *

 

Diana has turned towards the window. 

 

Almost certainly in her sleep. 

 

* * *

Any other thought on the matter is gone as Zelda climbs onto her and ducks under the covers.  

 

She yanks Hilda’s knickers down to her knees.

 

Her mouth is frantic.  And skilled.

 

Practice makes perfect after all. 

 

* * *

 

Hilda’s fingers can make out the faint grooves in Zelda’s headboard that her nails had dug years ago. 

 

They still fit perfectly. 

 

* * *

 

Hilda knows the next day that they have been caught. 

 

It’s just so easy to accidentally glimpse what mortals are thinking. Especially when she is worrying over what a particular mortal might be thinking while she eats her toast. 

 

Diana saw them last night. 

 

Sodding break in the cloud cover. 

 

* * *

 

She should be offended—but not surprised—that Zelda and Edward disappear once the dishes need doing, but Diana offers to help—definitely a point in her favor—and it will give them a chance to talk. 

 

“About last night,” Hilda starts. 

 

Diana drops a dish into the sink with a splash of suds. 

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

They both blush. 

 

They both laugh. 

 

Diana hands the plate to her to dry. 

 

“I shouldn’t have imposed,” Diana apologizes. “Edward never said.”

 

“Oh, he doesn’t know,” Hilda is quick to correct. 

 

“You won’t tell Zelda I saw, will you? She already hates me.”

 

“She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t  _ know _ you.”

 

“Neither do you really.”

 

“ _ I _ am an excellent judge of character. And I know we’ll get along famously.”

 

Hilda grins and squeezes one of Diana’s soapy hands in hers. 

 

“It just takes my sister time to warm up to people.”  She snorts. “Sometimes decades.”

 

“I have a limited number of those so maybe you could put in a good word.”

 

Hilda likes this soon-to-be-sister-in-law. 

 

“ _You_ won’t tell Edward, will you?” 

 

She still needs to know what Diana plans to say.

 

“I hate to ask you to start keeping secrets from my brother on your wedding day, but—“

 

“I won’t tell him. Let’s say, you’ll owe me a secret. Those seem to be very valuable in this family.”

 

Diana is already thinking like a Spellman, Hilda muses.

 

“And we are going to be sisters after all,” Diana adds. 

 

She turns red the moment she’s said it. 

 

 Wide eyes meet Hilda’s.

 

“Only Zelda,” Hilda says, perhaps too quickly.

 

“Not that you aren’t lovely,” she stammers.  “I just don’t—“

 

“I understand.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Lucifer, Zelda! I thought you were a burglar.”

 

Her sister laughs and she lowers the broom she is brandishing.

 

Zelda looks around her, continuing to titter as she takes in Cerberus Books and Spirits for the first time.

 

“ _Really_. Who would want to rob this place?”

 

“I told you I wouldn’t be home for dinner,” Hilda scolds, going back to her sweeping. No doubt that’s what Zelda is here to complain about. “Why didn’t you let Sabrina or Ambrose order take out like I suggested this morning?”

 

“What if I came for a pastry or a paperback?”

 

Zelda’s lips quirk, proud of her alliteration, obviously.

 

“Then you should have come during business hours.”

 

“Surely you are more accommodating to your other customers,” Zelda pauses and reads from her name tag with a raised eyebrow, “ _Hilda_.”

 

“What do you want then?”  She puts the broom back in its place and stands behind the counter to do one last bit of tidying.  “There’s the menu.”

 

She points to the chalkboard above the counter. She’s especially proud of the steam from the cup of coffee she has drawn that becomes curly cues in the upper corner. It was so much easier to do with magic guiding the chalk instead of having to steady herself on a ladder.

 

With Cee at a science fiction convention for the day, she’d had charge of the shop all on her own for the first time.  

 

The day had gone swimmingly.

 

Until her sister’s arrival.

 

“To begin with,” Zelda declares, “I want you to take off that bargain-basement wig.”

 

_Oh blow_.

 

She is usually careful to take the Bride wig off before she goes home.  

 

Before Zelda can see.  

 

Zelda finds plenty of reasons to tease her. She doesn’t need to hand the ammunition to her on a silver platter.

 

The one time she had left it lying on the kitchen table, Zelda had threatened to light it aflame with her cigarette. And given its synthetic quality and the amount of hairspray in it, it would have gone up like a torch and probably taken their ceiling with it.

 

She pulls the wig and cap off in one go and grimaces as its pins tug at _her_ hair before letting go.

 

Zelda watching her _here_ has her out of sorts.

 

After the sting, her scalp thanks her because it can breathe again.

 

She runs her fingers through her hair so it won’t be quite as squished down as she knows it is.

 

She also always takes a second before she comes home to magic her hair back to its usual state.

 

She smiles at Zelda.

 

Zelda rolls her eyes.

 

“Come here.”

 

She leans forward and Zelda’s fingers dig into her hair.

 

She’s dizzy by the time they have swept this way and that, by the time her sister’s nails have trailed unnecessarily up the back of her neck.

 

She puts a hand to the counter to steady herself.

 

Zelda smiles now.

 

She also leers over the counter at her.

 

“Now get rid of the tights.”

 

Hilda sighs.

 

So Jealous Zelda has come for a visit tonight.

 

Jealous Zelda had appeared in the wee hours of February 15th.

 

She had sprang from their room as she’d been going to her own room after her Valentine’s date with Cee.

 

Zelda had looked her over and she’d gone as red and guilty as if she’d just shagged him in front of the whole town—and not just necked (do they still call it that?) with him at the back of a movie theater.

 

Of course, Zelda had spotted a tiny rash on her neck from Cee’s end-of-the-day stubble, and this grand competition for her affections had begun.

 

Honestly, it exists mostly, almost entirely, in Zelda’s head.

 

Hilda had tried to tell her that it was like comparing apples to oranges or more accurately, apples to a twelve-layer chocolate cake.

 

“I need half an hour.”

 

Her voice has dropped quite on its on.

 

She has just a few more things to do then she will gladly go home and let Jealous Zelda try to prove herself better than Cee—who, bless him, has no idea he is even competing, that one buttery make-out session having been the zenith of their physical contact.

 

Zelda looks her straight in the eyes and says, “We both know I can make it happen much faster.”  

 

She licks impossibly red lips.

 

“Unless you're in the mood to draw it out for a few hours.”

 

_A few hours._ Definitely a few hours, she thinks.  There are benefits to Zelda’s stubborn determination and delight in watching her squirm combined with a bit of magic.

 

Her polyester costume is suddenly stifling.

 

“I’ll see you at home,” she manages, with only a tug at its collar.  She’s still in the midst of her Virginia Woolf boundary setting with Zelda.  “ _Later_. Sister.”

 

“ _Obviously_.” Zelda’s voice goes all bedroom.  “But I’m having you _here_.   _Now_. Sister.”

 

_Damn._

 

Zelda looks around the shop.

 

“Against the books, I think.”

 

_Double damn_.

 

She knows her lips have parted. She only hopes she isn’t doing quite as much of a fish impression as she suspects she is.

 

“Tell me you haven’t dreamed about being taken against a shelf of those wretched romance novels.”

 

She hadn’t thought about it. Not here, at least.

 

She does have a long-standing library fantasy, which Zelda is well aware of, having repeatedly turned her down when they were at the Academy.

 

Zelda Spellman did _not_ spend her time in the library.

 

* * *

 

Zelda Spellman will, however, reach beneath her dress to pop the suspenders holding her stockings loose in the middle of a book shop.

 

And she will reach further up her dress to slide a bit of black lace down her legs.

 

She steps out of her knickers with practiced ease.

 

Zelda has never once stumbled while doing this, even in heels far higher than what she is wearing now.

 

Knowing her sister, she’d probably made some sort of pact with the Dark Lord about it.

 

Zelda’s fingers are working the zipper at her back down.

 

“Take your heels off for once, Zelds.”

 

Zelda nearly naked and towering above her here is just too much.

 

Her request comes out all whispery but Zelda has heard her.

 

“Only if you’ll quit hiding behind that counter.”

 

Zelda’s dress hits the floor and Hilda would like to see anyone try to stop her.

 

* * *

 

Her own journey to near-public, near-nudity is not nearly as graceful as Zelda’s.

 

She had to lean against the stacks to get her shoes off without falling over and she’d had to do a bit of an awkward shimmy to get her tights down—she just took her quite mundane knickers down with them before Zelda could comment on them.

 

None of it is made any easier by Zelda’s standing right in front of her in some barely-there, probably couture bra, and flexing stocking-clad toes against the linoleum.

 

Zelda stops her hands once she starts to pull at the hem of her costume.

 

“Please, let me.”

 

Hilda indulges her, knowing full well it isn’t so much Zelda wanting to undress her as Zelda wanting to wad the cheap costume in a ball and throw it away from them.

 

The antique slip beneath is treated with more care.

 

Dark fingernails pluck at a strap then red lips follow across her shoulder.

 

The other hand has gone beneath her slip.

 

The step she takes to spread her legs isn’t graceful either, but Zelda doesn’t seem to mind as her mouth makes a humming noise over her pulse.

 

She pulls the hem of her slip up and Zelda’s thigh presses forward.

 

She won’t need the half hour.

 

* * *

 

They are in the horror section and not romance, Hilda notes, as handfuls of books fall to the floor around her.

 

“I’ll have to clean all that up.”

 

“I’ll help.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“Then I better make it worth your while.”

 

Zelda has made way for her hands to grip the shelves.

 

_Leverage_.

 

What a wonderful idea.

 

Hilda’s own palms follow suit and press against the top of a shelf so she can grind down even harder against Zelda’s thigh.

 

Physics is a magic all its own.

 

* * *

 

“Everytime you feel the least bit tempted, I want you to ask yourself if he could make you feel like this.”

 

No.  Cee had never reduced her to humping his leg in the middle of the store.

 

“I keep telling you—”

 

No. Cee had never made her so wet that she praised Satan for the bit of traction Zelda’s stocking was somehow offering.

 

“—no reason—“

 

No. Cee had never made her shout the Dark Lord’s name and her sister’s name in such quick succession that she couldn’t tell the difference if she tried.

 

“—to be jealous.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Hilda?”

 

She pushes her sister away in a panic as she recognizes the voice.

 

She wants the earth to open and swallow her as she watches his face.

 

“Jesus Christ!”

 

She’s only able to mutter “um” and “oh” repeatedly and start grabbing up clothes.

 

Cee’s got the false god’s name on repeat like a broken record.

 

She’s found a shoe and her slip when Zelda says, “I’ll thank you not to shout obscenities at me.”

 

Then Zelda is standing between them and suddenly Cee is frozen.

 

She can breathe again but that doesn’t make her situation much better.

 

She’d rather face the Cain pit than the horrified look on Cee’s face—which is right there every time she glances up.

 

“What am I going to do now?”  She shifts her things to one arm and punches _Zelda’s_ arm, in an uncharacteristic fit. “He can’t know!”

 

Zelda doesn’t even flinch. Her hands stay firmly at her hips.

 

“I, for one, have no problem with his knowing exactly where he stands.”  She considers the frozen figure before them. “It doesn’t look like he was about to react _well,_ though.”

 

She laughs, because, of course, Zelda finds this amusing.

 

“ _Zelda_.”

 

She feels the first sting of tears at the corners of her eyes.

 

Her first real friend outside of her family and now this.

 

_This_.

 

_This_ that not even their family talks about.

 

Zelda quiets.  

 

“Hush.”

 

She pushes Hilda’s hair back from her face.

 

“A quick spell and he’ll never know it happened.”

 

“He’s my friend.  I can’t just wipe my friend’s mind.”

 

Random people. Neighbors. Acquaintances. That was different.

 

“I’ll do it,” Zelda says. “He’s no friend of mine.”

 

She leans forward and plants a kiss to Hilda’s mouth.

 

Hilda can’t help but look at Cee out of the corner of her eye.

 

“But just this, Zelda. Don’t be cruel and make him forget how to tie his shoes or something. There really is nothing going on between us anymore. Not that there was much to start with.”

 

Zelda’s finger presses against her lips.

 

She stops babbling.

 

Zelda nods and Cee disappears.

 

“What did you do with him?”

 

People don’t up and disappear after a mind wipe.

 

“He’s just in the back.  I wasn’t finished here.”

 

Zelda pulls the slip she’d been clutching to her chest away.

 

“ _What_?  I can’t now.”

 

Hilda desperately clings to her shoe.

 

“Oh, I think you can.”

 

 

* * *

 

Hilda’s grin is a bit maniacal the next day.

 

And she keeps blushing.

 

Surely, it wasn’t the stress of running the shop on her own. Everything seems to have gone like clockwork, just like he knew it would.

 

He’d been worried he would be the one blushing after the very strange, but not unpleasant, dream he’d had—Hilda all tangled up with a tall red-head who bore a striking resemblance to her sister.

 

Today was one of those days that he was glad Hilda wasn’t a mind reader.

 

He isn’t sure how he would explain that one away.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna end this little series with something short and silly.

Of all the things they’ve done, they’ve done _this_ the least.

 

Someone always ends up injured, either from her own clumsiness or Zelda’s abject disregard for their physical safety.

 

The worst of those injuries are typically the result of falling off the bed.  

 

Their beds _are_ unreasonably high.

 

But when it _is_ working—

 

Well, it is good enough to risk limb, if not life, and try again from a safe height.

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t true that Zelda can’t be romantic.

 

She can be when properly motivated.  

 

 _Zelda_ had lit the lovely fire in the den and the candles across the mantle.

 

 _Zelda_ had spread their softest quilts over the rug.

 

 _Zelda_ had fetched the wine from down in the cellar and cleaned two glasses herself.

 

All-in-all, _Zelda_ has prepared a very romantic picnic where their coffee table typically is.

 

 _And_ Zelda had set the warning spell around the first floor. Sabrina is on a day trip with her mortal friends so there should be no demon-related emergencies and Ambrose is out with Luke and not likely to be home soon.

 

The spell is really just a precaution.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Safest if you are here, I think.”

 

She sinks back into the blankets as Zelda directs and lets her orchestrate their limbs.

 

She _is_ historically less likely to cause an injury from this angle.

 

* * *

 

People write poetry about sights like the one spread before her, songs about the type of things her sister’s mouth is doing. 

 

But her eye is drawn just past Zelda to meet another pair of eyes.

 

She tries pinching her sister.

 

She tries swatting at her hip.

 

Both prove encouraging rather than disruptive.

 

“Zel-Zelda.”

 

Finally a stop.

 

“One of us is _not_ doing what she is supposed to and her name is Hildegard.”

 

“He’s watching us.”

 

“Who on earth are you talking about?”

 

“ _Him_.”

 

She points to the couch.

 

Zelda follows her direction but still looks back at her, confused.

 

“ _Vinegar Tom._ ”

 

“You can’t be serious.”

 

“Why’d you even bring him in here?  For _this_?”

 

“You know how he enjoys the fire.”

 

“Couldn’t he look the other way at least?”

 

Zelda doesn’t frequently slump, but she does now, across her.

 

“Do you simply not enjoy this position?”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“Because you always find an excuse—Zelda, my leg has a cramp. Zelda, I have fallen off the bed. Zelda, your familiar is watching us.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Fine.”

 

The word echoes as they both speak at once.

 

She moves to prove her sister wrong and to get on with things.

 

Zelda moves to avert her familiar’s eyes so they can get on with things.

 

Her knee connects with Zelda’s face.

 

“Oh, Satan.”

 

She watches in horror as Zelda’s eyes go wide then pinch in pain. Zelda’s hand cups her nose.

 

“Zelds? I’m sorry. Let me see. Is it really that bad?”

 

Zelda moves her hand away and a torrent of blood flows down her chin.

 

She can fix this easily enough and tells Zelda so.

 

* * *

 

 

“Perhaps we should try levitating next time.”

 

“Shut up, Hilda. It hurts to laugh.”


End file.
